Wells Fargo seems to be in hot water again. The bank cleans up one mess and another immediately appears. Just go to Google and put in “Wells Fargo problems.” Before it was unasked-for credit cards. Now it’s unasked-for shenanigans in auto insurance. One could only slowly begin to conclude that there is something seriously wrong in the culture of this bank despite its promises to reform and clean up its act—it simply can’t or won’t do it. We are all used to institutions that are too big to fail. Now it’s about institutions too large to change and too big to know what’s going on in their own organizations. Except that they really do know, but if it’s making them money, they really don’t seem to care. The only way to change a large institution like Wells Fargo is if some prosecutors like the California Attorney General or a district attorney from some large county like San Francisco or Los Angeles have the nerve to actually do their jobs by going to a grand jury to present their case and maybe indict some officers of the company if the evidence is there. I would think that the company culture would change very rapidly if they took some senior bank officers out in handcuffs, charged them with conspiracy or RICO violations (that’s racketeering) and served a bunch of search warrants on the bank. The New York State Attorney General and the U.S.
Attorney in Manhattan have been a lot more courageous and aggressive than their counterparts out here in policing large institutions. In the meantime, the best we can do individually is close our Wells Fargo accounts to let the company know we are not happy—although I have doubts that they’re really listening.
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This summer has brought tens of thousands of tourists to Malibu (actually, the estimates for the entire summer are in the millions). Parking is impossible and totally inadequate, traffic is abominable and, like most Malibuites, we try to leave town or alternatively stay home on weekends. Our friends all know that if they want to visit, they have to either: come early and leave early, or come late and stay even later. While all this is going on, the city’s response is virtually nil. They seem paralyzed by the possibility that someone might accuse them of being friendly to tourists. Maybe it’s time they got off their collective behinds and admitted that we have serious traffic and parking problems. Perhaps there are some solutions. For example, the city might actually have a shuttle bus that goes around the city to take people to the beach or the shopping centers. The city might consider actually allowing some of those vacant lots to be used temporarily as parking lots in the summertime. There might even be some alternative traffic flow plans for the summer, which is really only about three months long. Perhaps they can get the employees from the businesses and restaurants to park off the streets. If they need to change the rules, then change them so the city works. The people are coming, so let’s stop pretending that it’s not going to happen.
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Recently, I’ve been hearing claims that this might be the greatest Dodgers team of all time. It’s August and they’re ahead in the National League West by 15 games. They are already beginning to think about printing T-shirts that say “National League Champs.” It sends shudders of apprehension through me because I remember 1951—though I was mere youth at the time. The then-Brooklyn Dodgers were ahead by 13-and-a-half games in August. We were cinched to take the pennant. Then: on to the Yankees. The problem is that no one told the New York Giants and their turncoat—may he rot in hell—manager Leo Durocher. Suddenly a Dodgers team that could do no wrong turned sour and could do no right. The Giants, on the other hand, were torrid to the season’s end. The Dodgers and Giants were tied, resulting in a three-game playoff. They split one game each in the playoff and the final tie-breaking game was in the Polo Grounds. The Dodgers looked like winners until the ninth inning, when Bobbie Thompson, the Giants’ third baseman, hit it into the left field stands with one mighty swing. With runners on each base, the swing sent every citizen of Brooklyn into a crashing depression and totally destroyed my faith in the doctrine of inevitability. Now, I don’t want anyone coming back to me and saying I put a hex on the Dodgers—that is, if they collapse—because I know that’s not going to happen, I think. Well, I hope.
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Karen and I are off on a two-week vacation to Canada, a country where they still seem to like us. It’s Toronto, Quebec City and Montreal, where you can get French everything (hopefully without the French prices). Last I looked into it, the Canadian dollar was at 79 cents, which is a hopeful sign.